It's dark It's cold
by DemonsRun221b
Summary: A one shot based during the Battle of Hogwarts. A look at the fight from a students point of view. It's a little abstract, and honestly is just pure angst. Warning for fighting, blood and death.


It's dark. On an ordinary night it would be pitch black outside, and you would be hiding inside by a fire. Reading, talking, playing games, or rushing to finish an essay you forgot. But not tonight. Tonight the sky is lit up by flashes of light as spells are thrown all around you. It's cold. But instead of fire bringing you warmth and comfort it brings fear. You have to move carefully, avoiding the flames that lick at anyone who passes too close. A night sitting with your friends seems so far away when some of them are now your enemy. As you move through the courtyard you see the seventh year who smuggled Firewhiskey into your dorm last month. But now the excited boy, so proud of his cunning, lies lifeless on the floor. Eyes that were full of mischief now glassy and dull. The more you look around you the more bodies you see. Neither Gryffindor bravery not Ravenclaw smarts have saved students. The adults don't seem to be doing any better. Aurors you vaguely recognise lie next to the long black robes of Death Eaters. Both sides are taking heavy losses.

You've been ready for war for a long time. You all knew it was coming and tried to prepare as well as children could. Fighting wasn't your strong point, you could never get the intent behind the spells, couldn't bring yourself to cause harm. But healing was something you could do. Something you were good at. So you took it upon yourself to help people. Try and bring some good to the chaos. You take a deep breath to steady yourself and then scan the rubble looking for someone who needs you. A Hufflepuff girl, maybe 5th year or younger. She's pale, blood gushing from her stomach. Spell after spell does nothing to stop the flow of blood, so you resort to putting pressure on the deep gash, murmuring comforts to her as you work. You run ideas through your mind, trying to think of something, anything, to help her. But she knows. She accepts the situation before you, with calm and bravery you didn't think possible of someone so young. You hold her hand and keep talking until her final breath. Only then do you let your tears run.

These are children. Fucking children. Being forced to fight for their existence and dying all around you. You're a child still, watching people die, unable to help them. This isn't fair. All of you had your childhoods snatched away from you, being forced to grow up too early, and die well before your time should be up. Anger flares inside you, but a curse flies over your shoulder and you remember you don't have time for this. Not here, not now. Righteous indignation can come later, if you live that long.

A break in the battle, a chance to patch up those you can and move the bodies of those you couldn't help. The bodies pile up, cries sounding as people recognise their friends. You're helping Madam Pomfrey as you see her brought in. The Hufflepuff. All you can do is stare, realising you never knew even her name. You barely register as someone puts an arm around you and moves you to the side of the room, forcing a warm mug into your hands. You take a drink, barely noticing the taste, but the warmth soothes your bones. How much more of this can you take? How much more can any of you take? You don't have time to think about that now though. You're running out of time before the battle recommences. Deep breaths. You ground yourself as well as you can, finish your drink, and then return to help.

Potter is dead. Your mind freezes, a chill runs through you. This is bad, very bad. All that's happened tonight, all the deaths, and it's all been pointless. Draco steps forward, heading towards the Dark Lord, to join him. Traitor, a shout from someone in the crowd. You think that too for a second, before you see how defeated he looks, and you remember he's a child too. As much a victim of what's happening as you are. You watched him grow from the loud, brash, bigoted kid he once was into a level headed young man who doesn't want any part in this war.

And then chaos. Potter is alive, and the fight continues. There's curses and hexes thrown in all directions, shouting and screaming, no one quite knows what is going on. Some people have had enough, running and hiding. You freeze for a moment, before deciding that you still have some fight left in you. Ducking just in time, a body flies over your head. You look around to see if it's safe to go and help before realizing they're not on your side. A Death Eater. Indecision claws at you. They're the enemy, but they're also human. They could even be one of your classmates. You're fed up of this, angry with both sides, hate being forced to fight. Decision made, you start to head towards them, consequences be dammed.

You only make it a few steps before you're knocked sideways onto the floor. A moment of numbness before the pain flares in your shoulder. As you landed your head hit the floor, making you dizzy and disoriented. Something warm runs down your side, you notice that you're bleeding. You manage to catch a glimpse of your shoulder and register the wound. It's one you recognise, and you know how this will end. A small laugh somehow escapes you at the irony of the situation. It wasn't long ago you wondered how someone could stay so calm as they bled out onto the floor. But now you understand. You think you should be scared, as the blood runs faster and you grow cold. Instead you're just calm. The battle seems distant, the noise muffled. It comes as a surprise when you feel someone next to you, attempting to get your attention as they try and stem the bleeding, telling you to keep fighting. You've been fighting all day, you're exhausted, nothing left to give. Their movements slow, they know there is no way to help you now. The world starts to grow dark around you. You feel them take your hand, a tear landing on your face.

"It's okay, there's nothing you can do. It will be okay."

It's dark. You remember your friends, laughing and joking. Happy. It's cold. You remember sitting by the fire talking about how much you hated History of Magic, coming up with conspiracies about this year's DADA teacher. Another smirk of irony, turns out there won't be time for righteous indignation. But so many children died today. And now you're going to be one of them.


End file.
